


The Crown of Waterlilies

by Ella Vipers (Palesilver)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Allergies, Elves, M/M, Male Sneezing, Sneezing, sneeze fetish, sneezefic, sneezing fetish, sneezing while hiding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-06-27 23:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19799935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palesilver/pseuds/Ella%20Vipers
Summary: Sneezing fetish story. Not intended for non-fetishists.General plot: A consort of a king develops a sudden allergy to his crown. Because both are elves (and surrounded by flowers), neither are quick to catch on, much to the detriment of everyone else in the castle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This will probably be very weird if you don't have a sneezing fetish. I apologize in advance to my subscribers who are here expecting femdom, pwp or other things I've done in the past. Although there will be smut eventually. I would probably skip over this if I were you lol.

Part 1

A gentle evening breeze bathed King Beledroth as he opened a window of his driftwood castle. The sun had mostly set, and creatures of the swamp began to stir, including citizens of his realm. Distant mountains blocked the few remaining beams of sunlight, shadowing his kingdom in early twilight. He watched as, like clockwork, blue and green crystals came to life along the marsh coastlines of his kingdom, bringing a faint unearthly glow. It was much too hot during the daytime to get anything done, and the nighttime eased the ambiance of humidity. Copying their king, many slept during the daytime.

"My lord, your presence is requested!" suddenly sputtered a voice from the hallway.

"You may address me simply as Beledroth. There is no need for formalities within my castle. Things are not as rigid here as they are in the Northern Realms." The young servant-elf was very new to his duty and obviously not aware of the King's distaste of such language.

"Very well... Lord, err, Beledroth," the servant chewed the words as if they were a foreign dialect, "I was told someone named Nightingale must urgently speak with you."

The king's pale green eyes intensified at the mention of his friend, "Nightingale? Urgently? Why would he not come here himse-" but stopped upon realizing the servant would not have been given a reason. Nightingale was very quiet and preferred not to speak much to others, especially low-ranking servants.

The king had entered a room attached to the southeast portion of the library where many records were kept. Tanned, crumpled scrolls were strewn about the floor and the desk. One was even unrolled and hanging over the back of a chair. Nightingale sat hunched over the ornate silver desk, his long, dark hair obscuring the look of concern marring his face.

"Is there a problem?"

Nightingale looked up to the white-haired elf adorned with pastel green flowers, "You must see this!" he pointed to several rows of numbers on the old parchment, "There is a large sum of coin somewhere not accounted for." The king tried to follow along the paper trails while Nightingale explained, "I... I think someone may be embezzling funds," he whispered the last part with dread, "here within the castle."

Beledroth did not believe the other elf at first and thought his friend may be toying with him or had made a mistake. He was only an apprentice to the castle Chamberlain, Rhistal. Nightingale had a natural appreciation for math, but had only recently been assigned additional career prospects. He had originally come to live at Beledroth's court as one of his consorts, but had begged him for a more mentally stimulating task after little more than a century had passed. Beledroth had handed him a difficult job, assuming he would become frustrated and quit. "Why are you looking through old records, anyways? I believe your specific duties are limited to organizing scrolls and performing minor calculations that Rhistal gives you. Are you sure you would not rather find work as a painter or something more relaxing?"

"Beledroth, _please_ listen to me! I really think something is amiss here! Look right here," he stood and pulled a scroll detailing the accounts of imported ink, "Ink does not cost THIS much. Records of ink traded to and from the Riverlands do not match up." 

Beledroth contemplated in silence, then scoffed, "Do not worry so much. Rhistal is from the Riverlands. We must see that he takes notice of this. Perhaps there is a shortage we are not aware of? He will be able to question the elves involved more easily, as they are his kindred."

"I believe it may be _caused_ by Rhistal! He has been very secretive as of late. He has been taking walks along the unlit dock north of the garden. We both know he prefers to stay indoors. He never liked the beauty of the swamp. Do you not think that unusual?"

"Zeyanas?!" frustrated, he barked Nightingale's real name, "You do know this is a VERY serious accusation you are making??" He took a breath to steady himself, angry that, if true, someone like Nightingale had been the one to tell him, knowing his court would soon be plagued with drama, "IF I investigate and find that your complaint is unfounded, I will have to relieve you of your duties. The other members may call for your banishment. Do you think Rhistal would take you back after accusing him? I will send for an emergency council soon. Speak of this to no one. Let us hope this resolves peacefully." Deep down, he still refused to believe something malicious was happening in his home. I had to be a mistake. His head bent down and he rubbed his brow in frustration, a single petal from his crown of waterlilies falling to the floor beneath. He noticed his long silky hair was becoming messy. Hoping to lighten the mood, he asked his lover, "Could you fix my hair for me?"

Relieved, the dark elf moved to run his long fingers through Beledroth's tresses. He sniffed lightly. An irritating tingle had been bothering his upturned nose since the king had walked in. Perhaps he had carried dust in with him from walking through the main library. He would have to scold those responsible for cleaning the shelves of old tomes. The tingle crept upwards, deeper into his sinuses and Nightingale felt his bottom lip start to tremble. He bit down, hoping he could will the sneezy feeling away. He did not want to make a fool of himself in front of his beloved, especially after upsetting him just a few moments ago.

He silently chided his king for insisting on wearing a crown of waterlilies. They were unnecessarily complex and often tangled in his hair. Worse yet, the king wore no braids or anything to help keep his hair in place. Not that Nightingale minded; his lover was beautiful with his waist-length hair draping down over his back and abdomen. "Ihhh..." Oh no. He felt his jaw start to slacken and was forced to take a quivering breath. Beledroth heard his gasp and turned to face the more slender elf, "Are you alright?" He saw Nightingale had the lower half of his face covered with one dark blue sleeve, teary black eyes squinting and looking past him. "Hihh...ihhh," his chest rose and fell rapidly, obviously fighting with some sort of outburst, "Ehhh...Ht'kshht! Hih-tschh!!"

"Goodness!" he was gladdened his lover was not crying and resigned to watch Nightingale with terrible curiosity. Elves did not commonly sneeze, let alone sneeze in fits. "Are you ill, my friend?"

"I do not... ehhihh.. think so," he shakily said, bringing his hand away to speak more clearly. The sneezes had paused, but the feeling had not. He gracefully fanned his slender hands in front of his face, trying to coax it out, still blinded by the urge overcoming him. The brunet elf's features twisted in what resembled anguish. Beledroth, now feeling guilty, could not help but be reminded of the many times Nightingale had shown a similar expression. Giving the struggling elf a quick kiss on the forehead, he dismissed his shameful thoughts and made to give Nightingale space. "Make sure you see a healer. I cannot have you disturbing the council." he said on the way out.

Nightingale now let himself sneeze freely, not caring if he misted the papers. "Ehhh…aah-tschieww!! Hahh'kshEW!! Hehh…hehh'kSHEWW!!”

The feeling soon died down back to a manageable prickle and the elf daintily rubbed his nose, sniffling a bit of liquid. What on earth had come over him??? Maybe he _WAS_ ill! He decided to take Beledroth up on his advice, and, leaving the room messier than it was when he came, locked the door to walk to the healing wing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren’t many sneezes yet still, but I promise again that in the next chapter there will be and they will be integral to a plot line that is yet to be revealed.

“I see nothing inside that is unusual,” the physician said to Nightingale as he attempted to peer into his patient’s sinuses. His charge was seated high up on the bench, which dominated the small, private infirmary room. Erolalth, the master physician, stood before him and tried to find the source of the problem. The elder held a glowing green crystal near the raven-haired elf’s lips to provide an adequate amount of bright light. “You say you had a sudden outburst?”

“Yes,” Nightingale’s clipped answers did not give him much information to work with.

“Did you take notice of anything strange when it happened?”

“No. Beledroth approached me in the old scroll room, but he had worn the same fragrance as always.”

Erolalth sighed, worried his time was being wasted, “You do realize dust can make some people sneeze, don’t you? It is not uncommon to be irritated by it. Even elves can be bothered, particularly if you are in such close proximity. Perhaps you are highly sensitive.”

Nightingale bristled at the suggestion of a silly weakness, “I disagree! I have tended scrolls there before! Please, I cannot show illness in Beledroth’s presence again,” he pushed a lock his wavy black hair behind one ear in embarrassment, “I will be the fool of the council.”

A coil of guilt knotted in his chest and the healer regretted being abrasive with the younger elf. He moved to gently palpate the lymph nodes beneath Nightingale’s ears for swelling. The dark-haired elf’s eyelids slid shut at the sensation, leaving Erolalth free to openly admire his haunting beauty.

“No swelling.” A gentle hand moved to rest upon his forehead, “No fever either. Might I have a look at the back of your throat?” The crystal illuminated Nightingale’s mouth and Erolalth saw no patches of irritated flesh. At least he was not hurt.

“I do not believe you to be ill, but if your story is accurate, then I will take your word that dust is not the cause of this. It must be some other irritant unknown to either of us,” he stroked an invisible outline of a beard on the sides of his mouth with a pensive look, “Unfortunately you are destined to wait until you come across it again. In the meantime. I can order that Fereth make you a potion to relax you and steady your nerves, if you think that will help you face Beledroth.”

~~~~~~~~~

Erolalth unlatched the frosted-silver glass door that was etched with flowers. “This way. She is not at her workbench this hour,” he ushered his patient inside. The master physician called out to find Fereth and started to wander away, while Nightingale sat upon a nearby stone bench. Scanning the lush garden, he read what he could from the various descriptions posted about the foreign plants.

Although the greenhouse was very large and made up a significant portion of the castle, Nightingale did not care much for the unnatural home of Beledroth’s favorite flowers and fauna. With a sneer, he thought of how he would much rather wander the untamed swamps and forests and see them in their native environments. Many of the plants here could not survive in the wild and wondered why Beledroth cultivated them. _Beautiful, yet weak, displaced, and useless… much like myself._

After a few minutes, Nightingale started to feel uncomfortably warm, despite having loose dark blue robes designed for the heat and humidity. He completely unbuttoned it, leaving the swirl-patterned cloth to hang around his shoulders. The elves of Eastshade were much more lenient about showing skin, so Erolalth did not mention his state upon returning.

What Erolalth did notice, however, was Nightingale’s teary-eyed expression as he battled another fit of sneezes. His face was buried beneath the sleeve, but Erolalth couldn’t mistake the rise and fall of Nightingale’s bony shoulders, “Hnn'gtt! Hnn’kshht! Hh'kshhGNX!!!”

The physician tutted and turned to Fereth, who was luckily holding the potion Nightingale would need. “Allergies… as I suspected. He was fine earlier, but said the symptoms first started when Beledroth came close.”

“Oh dear,” Fereth murmured, “Beledroth was just here gardening shortly before sunset. Between us, we must have handled a small army of flowers! There must be pollen trails around the castle by now.” Being close friends, the two talked amongst themselves and tried to piece together information, accidentally forgetting Nightingale.

“Ehh… ahhh… a little…. H-help… hiih.. here! Ehhh…ehh’ksheww!! Hahh'kshEW!!” he sneezed freely, overcome by the sensation, eyes squeezed shut.

“Apologies.” Erolalth took the potion from the elf-woman and guided Nightingale’s hand to close around the shiny pewter vial, bringing it to his lips. He did not want the helpless elf to choke should the bitter taste startle him, so he thought it best to let him control the pace of the liquid.

He pressed a finger hard against Nightingale’s twitchy, wet upper lip, feeling the deep v shape of his cupid’s bow. _For a male, he has such soft lips._ He quickly quelled his wayward mind as logic took over. _No, you do not truly know Nightingale. He may be dangerous… Beledroth even more so. I will not let myself be caught in this spider’s web._

The slender elf had finished the potion, wrinkling his face in disgust, “That was abhorrent.”

Fereth’s silver eyes narrowed, “They all are, really. You should be grateful; there are hundreds of plants here. While one may cause your illness, another cures you.” She took her leave as she had little time to waste. Herbalism was a thankless job. The elf maid was very busy this week pre-mixing emergency potions for the human visitors who would be arriving within the next few days.

“Will that be all, Zeyanas?” The ashy brunet winced inwardly as the last word slipped out. Werewolf’s fangs! He swore, worrying how Nightingale would react to being addressed by name. “I apologize, I—“ he sputtered, words failing him.

The raven-haired elf rose to his feet and looked down at Erolalth, standing a full head taller than most others. Painted nails gently scratched the sensitive skin of the healer’s inner elbows before dragging themselves to a stop beneath his chin, “Actually. There is something else you can do for me.”

Pillowy lips descended upon his own as Erolalth was pulled into the most delightful kiss of his long life. All too soon they had flittered away, coming to rest near his ear. The low voice reverberated, making the tiny hairs on his neck tingle, “I ache. I have not felt Beledroth’s loving touch in ages. I often ask myself, ‘Why has he brought me here, only to cast me aside?’ I do not wish to speak ill of my love, but sometimes I wish I had remained in Astrafen.”

Erolalth preferred to stay neutral, and pulled back with, “You are bound to Beledroth, we are not permitted to lay—“

“I was pure! I gave up my former life, and in return I was ignored in my very own bed in favor of others!”

“You were not unaware of your purpose. It is known throughout Eastshade that to serve Beledroth is one of the highest honors. You knew there would be others,” he tried to defend the King, though he secretly agreed.

Nightingale raised the physician’s hand to cup his cheekbone, leaning into the touch, “Yet you look upon me like no other. A small flame smolders beneath your gaze. Am I mistaken?”

Erolalth found his thumb stroking the thin skin of the taller elf’s temple and brow bone, “No.” He had long perceived that Beledroth concealed an icy facet of his demeanor. Nightingale, being in much closer proximity, doubtlessly knew more than he let on. Perhaps his earlier judgement of Nightingale was undeserved. Once again, he beckoned the younger elf to follow.

The pair rushed back to Erolalth’s office. As soon as the deadbolt clicked shut, Nightingale pounced on the healer, aggressively shoving him against the back of the heavy oak door.

Erolalth’s ashy brown hair was freed of its loose braids to fall around his shoulders. His shirt was all but torn away while Nightingale pressed burning kisses to his collar bone. Every so often each kiss was partnered with a small, stinging bite, sending waves of pleasure straight to his groin.

The dark elf raised his leg in-between Erolalth’s, gauging the growing hardness beneath his leather leggings, and moved to suck a pointed ear tip. Powerless, Erolalth ground against the intrusive appendage, his mind hazy with passion.

Elven ears were erogenous and the touch only served to launch him towards his peak. How had he become such a helpless rutting beast? With a soft groan, Erolalth broke a kiss, gasping, “Wait. I can’t finish so soon. You needed my help, remember?”

“Of course,” Nightingale stepped back to eagerly shirk off his robe, thin leggings and loincloth, then leapt gracefully over to the exam table, “Let us resume where we left off earlier.”

Producing a small vial of oil from a nearby drawer, Erolalth shuffled behind the seated elf and began to massage his tense muscles. The dark elf leaned back into the strong caresses and turned to take Erolalth’s lips again.

The vial opened with a popping noise, and slick hands lowered to work circles down his chest. “Aiii… you have the hands of a god,” Nightingale breathed as they worked lower still, taking his cock in hand and setting a surprisingly brutal pace. Beneath the fingers, his length twitched desperately with his impending release. “Erolalth,” he begged with only seconds to spare, “Take me, please! I must feel you within.”

The hands stopped their manipulations just in time as their owner pondered the keening request. IF Nightingale had indeed not lain with anyone for some time, then it might be painful for him to take his length. He settled for the safe option of having his companion kneel on the table.

Searching, he reached under to find Nightingale pliant, but still far too tight for his liking. His finger expertly located and manipulated the small gland, causing Nightingale to cry out and buck his hips in earnest.

Fingers pulled down hard on his hair, and he took his cue to take Nightingale into his mouth. He tasted a bitter drop of his essence, swirling his tongue over the head and bobbing once. He resigned to let Nightingale set the pace, letting him rock back and forth from the finger and his mouth.

The delicious suction undid Nightingale’s resolve, and the tingle at the base of his cock coiled tighter and tighter as he was driven to a frenzied state. Consequently, his moans came freely now as he panted, a bead of sweat running past his open lips as he raced to the end. “Ahh… ahh… AIYA!!” He shuddered, feeling broken. Boneless.

Releasing him, Erolalth started to wipe up. Neither had noticed the bottle of oil had fallen and shattered, making a huge mess. When the healer crouched to the floor, the slender elf couldn’t help but laugh and ask him, “Why are you still in your leggings?!”

~~~~~~~

The rickety planks of the old and abandoned dock creaked as Rhistal surveyed the area. Biting the inside of his lip, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease; all he heard were the brown waves of the swamp water gently lapping at the posts and the chirping of frogs in the night. His chest tightened; elven intuition told him that he wasn’t alone.

His orange-brown eyes continued to search the edges of the murky water, eager to find some clue, any clue as to why the vials of ink were disappearing from the docks. Slowly, he retraced his steps along the narrow path, as he did every night. Crunch! Tiny shards of glass were embedded in the fibers of the rotting green wood, and Rhistal leaned down to inspect them further. This was new. This was fresh.

Merchants from Mallowmoor, Rhistal’s homeland, had a reputation as honorable and well-liked, often simply leaving preordered crates of goods sitting on the docks and taking payments at some other time or location. The king’s private docks were guarded and the merchant boats were made to be marked with special seals of approval in order to pass into his inlet. Whatever was going on, someone with clearance to be near the castle was either behind or at the very least aware of it.

The hair on his neck raised as he peered between a crack in the dock and suddenly locked eyes with something hidden in the water beneath. With his limited visage, he saw what appeared to be yellow-flecked irises. They sat slightly below the surface, unblinking and seemingly unbothered by the dirty water. The eyeballs were cold and lifeless, reminding Rhistal of a recently butchered animal.

Sensing the impending danger, Rhistal leapt to his feet and started sprinting towards the beginning of the dock. He spied a tall, thin silhouette quickly walking towards him. The other elf was about half the distance to the shore. He couldn’t see who it was, but he didn’t care.

“A naga! There is a naga! Alert the guards!” His voice cracked in terror, shrieking. The dock was much too long and he knew the guards stationed at the nearby tower couldn’t hear him, but they might if the other elf shouted to them from their distance. Despite this, the other made no other movement or sound. Perhaps they had not heard him?

A few seconds passed and he caught up with the person he now recognized as his apprentice. Cursing his misfortune, as Nightingale was a stubborn donkey regardless of the situation, he took hold of the slender wrist and tried to pull him in the opposite direction and back to safety, “A naga shelters beneath this dock! Follow me, we must go! Quickly now!”

He did not personally care for Nightingale, thinking him manipulative, but knew Beledroth would be livid should he be injured. Resisting the forceful grip and planting his feet, the dark-haired elf harshly said, “I know what a naga is!” but made no further comment.

Speechless, Rhistal briefly considered throwing Nightingale to the wolves and running anyways, but it was soon too late to take that option. The serpent-creature could swim faster than they could run, and it had climbed onto the dock in their short delay, cutting them off from the shore. The dock groaned under the weight of its massive serpent body.

The blond elf now got a proper look at the scaly creature. The human part resembled a dead woman with a mouth full of sharp cone-shaped teeth, yet it wore the face of a young girl. Her pupils did not reflect the soft moonlight, seeming to only serve as a window into the abyss.

Swallowing, the elf accountant tried to be brave, but he was no warrior. She frightened him. The grey woman curled her thick black and white striped tail around a post and faced them, clicking her patternless teeth, “Him?” She looked past him at the taller elf.

What?!

Before Rhistal could react, he felt a blunt pain in his lower back. He reflexively gasped in shock, salty brine filling his mouth and burning his nose. His red and gold robes proved too heavy to pull to the surface. Panicking, he fought mightily, but was quickly overcome by the clawing webbed hands that dragged him down. The large full moon faded from his vision and he succumbed to the darkness, realizing he could no longer tell up from down.

The rubbery cork of a fancy boot heel bounced atop the waves, forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhistal is okay, not dead but maybe slightly injured, and he will have a sickfic/light whump centered around a cold in a separate side-story. So let me know if you have any ideas for that. I’ve actually never written a cold afaik. He will be meeting the nagas.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Dubious Consent (sex)! (To elaborate on that/spoiler: Witchcraft sexually compels someone. I don’t think it’s that bad, and the characters are in a relationship, but the plot line still deserves that label.)

"What fools!" Nightingale excitedly whispered as he tried to awaken the small clay statue. "The nagas did not understand what they had in their possession, my little friend. I was obligated to give you a better home! Oh, hush now," he stroked where tears would have formed if the statue had eyes, "I know you are worth much more than a few hundred vials of ink, and I do apologize for offering such a low price." Wearing gloved hands, he took great care not to let his skin or hair directly contact the sculpture.

The white clay statue had been looted from a small, independent fishing village several months prior. The presence of red coral led Nightingale to believe this to be the work of Renia, one of the few humans able to make enchantments strong enough to bring elves to their knees. This trinket was no different, possessing a massive phallus made of the more precious material. It dominated the statue, jutted straight out and was near the same size as the legs. A true entrepreneur of witchcraft, that one. It is a shame that death has most likely claimed her by now.

The raven-haired elf had been covertly dabbling in evil magics for quite some time now, lulled by the volatile promise of power. Originally, he had not set out on this path with the goal of cursing Beledroth, as his interest in dark magic was piqued long before ever meeting the King. But the opportunity provided by the statue proved too great an allure.

"How am I to wake you?" Nightingale once again spoke aloud, albeit more quietly this time, as he was hiding in Beledroth's wardrobe room. Salvaged from the King's jade comb, Nightingale had already wrapped a lock of Beledroth's white hair around the phallus. Though Renia always made it quite obvious the type of enchantment each statue was meant to be used for, she had never bothered to ever write down how one awakened her tokens of witchcraft, and this proved to be a major problem in Nightingale's plan. Simply talking to the statue did not seem to work as he had hoped.

The sound of a key turning startled the dark elf and he ducked behind several floral silk robes, crouching to the floor to make himself smaller and hopefully stay out of sight. From his limited visage, Nightingale recognized the light green robe and identified the other person as Beledroth. This was NOT good. The ruler would likely rummage through all of his personal belongings. He started to think of how he would both hide the statue and explain why he was hiding in a corner should Beledroth find him. Perhaps he could

The King had taken his lily crown off, hanging it on the same clothing rack, perhaps out of carelessness, knocking loose several yellow blooms that floated to the floor. The lilies were a few days old now and had started to fall apart. Flower-maidens would weave a new crown for him soon.

The King paced around the room, looking up and down, and familiarity told his lover that he was looking for his comb. The room was extremely messy. Beledroth did not like help from his servants to get ready for bed, so he often brushed his own hair at night. In his haste, his velvet-booted foot accidentally kicked a lily, heavy with pollen, directly towards the hiding elf.

The fat blossom hit Nightingale's crouched leg and exploded upwards, staining his dark purple clothing, and causing a red-brown dust cloud to envelop himself and the statue that he still held. Feeling an intense tickle flourishing within his sinuses, his calm expression changed to one of horror as he realized the source of his allergy were Beledroth's lilies.

Beledroth had found his comb and was now sitting quietly and humming in front of his tall mirror as he worked through his hair. If Nightingale could just be quiet a little longer, perhaps Beledroth would soon be on his way.

"Hihhhh..." The inner walls of his upturned nose quivered with urgency as he had no choice but to keep breathing through it, biting his lip. If he opened his mouth, the urge would overcome him. Nightingale tried to focus on steadying his breath.

His free gloved hand came to his face, pressing his fingers hard against his upper lip. Unfortunately, he failed to realize that the gloves had also been doused with a fine sheen of powder, and he inhaled much more than the first time. His nostrils flared more violently, trying to escape the tiny fibers that now danced along the inside.

In vain, the dark elf tried to focus his mind using his favorite meditation technique.

Grass. Tree roots. Tree trunk. Bark. Branch. One leaf. Two leaves... Flowers? NO! Suddenly the images of dandelions releasing their spores flashed in his mind. He had difficulty keeping control of his thoughts now. All he desired to do now was sneeze and rid himself of the tickly irritants, but the fear of being caught gripped him.

"Hiiiih...ihh!"

His long black lashes fluttered closed, concealing his reddening eyes. The last thing he saw was Beledroth struggling with a rather large hidden mat of hair. He knew he would run out of time now. Beledroth would be here forever!

The statue started to vibrate, but Nightingale could do nothing; his body was a prisoner of his impending sneezes.

"Ehhh…ihhh-tschieww!! Hahh'kshEW!! Hehh…hehh'kSHEWW!!"

The King spun around on the stool, dropping the comb. He recognized Nightingale's voice, but he was still very alarmed. This was his personal room. No one was allowed in here without explicit permission! Marching to where Nightingale was hiding, he all but ripped open the veil of clothing, sending rolling waves of silk to the floor.

Nightingale got a few breaths in and looked up to at Beledroth through sneezy tears. "What is the meaning of th--?"

"ISHHHOOO!" Nightingale misted everything in front of him, including the statue.

Beledroth's pale green eyes dilated to large black discs and the anger marring his face died, morphing to a blank expression. The clay statue, wet from Nightingale's last sneeze, started to transform to look more like an elf. A sickening green glow from its tiny eyes filled the room, and the hair shifted to attach itself to the statue's head. The phallus shrank to normal proportions. It was now a small figurine of the King.

"Heh-ESH'ooo!" The sneezes had started to wane in their intensity now that Nightingale did not hold himself back. The dark elf wanted to speak, to lie to Beledroth about what had happened.

Beledroth's knees felt like cotton, and he fell to the floor as pure pleasure coursed through his veins. Between each sneeze, Nightingale recognized the familiar look of lust and ecstasy written on the King's face.

The King frantically ripped open his leggings and took himself in hand to relieve the unbearable need. His cock felt like red-hot iron. Soft moans bubbled past his lips as the pain changed into the most intense pleasure he had ever felt. He looked over at Nightingale with hooded eyes. A scarlet flush stained his broad cheekbones, moving down his neck and chest, which told Nightingale he was close to completion. "Please..."

Had Nightingale misheard? Did the King just beg him?

"Nightingale... please... finish me."

Dropping the statue, the dark elf crawled over to the King, watching in amazement as Beledroth acted in a manner he had never seen before. His long gloved fingers added a delicious extra friction as he took over for the older elf.

"Hih-HEk'SHOO" The raven-haired elf was so enthralled, he hadn't noticed the final sneeze creeping up, and sprayed his lover's cock.

Feeling this, the tingles of orgasm rippled through Beledroth and he arched, shaking. Long ropes of his essence coated his chest and Nightingale's glove, one being powerful enough to accidentally hit his chin.

Watching Beledroth's eyes start to glaze over in reverie, Nightingale quickly made his plan to escape.

"I am sorry, my love." He kissed Beledroth's forehead, and then each cluster of white eyelashes. He tucked the figurine into his robe's inner pocket, removed the leather gloves, and proceeded to slip away into the darkness of the swamp. Heart pounding, he wondered if he would ever see Beledroth again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided that this story will serve as a backstory to how Nightingale became a villain. I am probably going to postpone this story for now so I can work on other areas/characters in the same world. I do plan on making a cold fic featuring Rhistal.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 1/4.
> 
> For fetishists, I am on SFF and tumblr, but feel free to comment here since I the forum is kinda dead atm. I might take requests. For non fetishists who made it this far for some reason, I *might* answer any questions you have. This kind of story is a little out of my element, so I am nervous posting it here.


End file.
